


towards oceans and shorelines (with open arms)

by ofthesun



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Coming of Age, Gen, Insomnia, Kinda, Ocean, The author uses too much exposition for fucks sake calm down, Trans Female Character, kind of????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:57:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofthesun/pseuds/ofthesun
Summary: Alex is up before dawn and starts to figure things out.





	towards oceans and shorelines (with open arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Mornings are my kink, I guess (see: [Sunrise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9457811)/[Alborada](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10547256), [i leave you in the dark, it comes as no surprise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10852242)). I currently have extremely limited Internet access, and I typed this in my phone notes, so my sincerest apologies for any grammatical, formatting, or spelling errors (I'll be editing this as soon as I have more Internet). Characterisation in this is probably fucked seven ways to Sunday because I haven't even finished listening to the cast recording yet (I've been trying for two months, my attention span is a bitch). This is my first Hamilton fic, I'm hoping for the best tbh. Title is from Greens Avenue by The Amity Affliction! Please hmu with thoughts and feedback! :)

Alex turns over in his bed for what seems like the thousandth time that night, looking up to face the ceiling now. It's too dark to make much out, but he can see a few bumps in the otherwise smooth, beige paint. He turns his head just enough to get a view of the clock.

The illuminated numbers read 4:27am, in a shade of red that almost feels like it's taunting him. He groans and rolls onto his side, bringing his feet down to the floor until he's sitting upright. He sleeps on a shitty futon couch in the back room of their little, rundown house. Lafayette's parents had owned it for a few decades as a vacation home, but they'd left it untouched for enough years that its condition had dwindled, leaving behind an almost-haphazard structure held together by old bricks and marked by rusted pipes. It was still liveable, and the plummeted value of it made it relatively affordable for Lafayette, Alexander, John, and Hercules to split the cost, so they'd purchased it off of Lafayette's parents last year, leaving behind their ridiculously cramped and overpriced apartment in NYC.

The house, though old and ratty, had two small bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, and a back storage room. Lafayette and Hercules shared one of the bedrooms, and John had won rock paper scissors for the other, leaving Alex with the back room. They'd let him take the futon couch from their prior residence for his room as consolation - the rest of them had to shop around the Salvation Army to acquire mattresses to even sleep on. Lafayette's parents had taken all of their furnishings out of the house, save for the kitchen, before they sold it. It made sense, but it still made moving into the house much more difficult for the four of them.

Alex knows they should all be more appreciative - in their old studio apartment, they only had a microwave, the futon, and a twin-sized mattress their landlord had lent to them while they were living there. This house was a thousand times better. And it cost them far less than renting in the city - it was out in the country, on the shores of Connecticut.

The wood is cold beneath his bare feet and he shudders, feeling around his bed for some stray socks to slip on. When he can't find any, he settles for tiptoeing through the room until he finds his slip-on sandals, near the door. Alex slides his hand over the doorknob, turning it slowly as to avoid making noise. He's certain the rest of the house is fast asleep - no one else is affected by the same severe insomnia as he is. He pushes the door open just enough to slip his skinny frame through, gently shutting it behind himself.

Alex's storage-turned-bedroom is at the end of the hall where the two real bedrooms come off of. He walks as lightly as he can through it, his feet moving gingerly and delicately on the hardwood until it turns to the carpet of their living room. The living room is only furnished by a couple of mismatched arm chairs set in a vaguely circular position, decorated by small prints of photos John's taken of them, held up by washi tape. The carpet is a nasty shade of green with red stains on it - Alex has never really understood why Lafayette's parents kept it to begin with - but it's a little soft, and more comforting than the wood and tile in the rest of their house. The wall to Alex's left is overtaken by a sliding glass door, leading out to their backyard, and he walks towards it and again, opens it just enough to fit himself through before gingerly sliding it closed.

They should really keep that locked - Alex thought John always locked it at night, along with all their other doors and windows, but apparently not. He makes a mental note to remind John about that.

The porch on the back of their house is only about two feet off of the ground, made of plywood that the contractors never got around to staining to match the rest of the wood on the house, so it looks far newer than it is. They have a set of patio chairs that actually match, picked up in a Macy's closing clearance sale. It's easily the nicest furniture they own, embarrassingly enough. Alex pulls one of them up, closer to the edge of the deck, and sits down on it, leaning back. They live along the Atlantic coast, and their porch stretches out to about fifteen feet shy of the shoreline. Considering the potential of higher tides in years to come, it's probably not really the safest, considering their house isn't all that high above sea level to begin with, but they can't really afford to do anything about it, so they're essentially stuck with it. When their house gets swallowed up into the ocean, they'll flee and deal with it.

Alex isn't really sure what's keeping him up in particular on this night. Granted, he's up late most nights, but usually he gets some brief stints of sleep throughout the night, or at least winds up asleep before now. Tonight, he's almost certain he hasn't slept for even a moment, spending the night rolling over in his sheets.

Usually, he knows what's keeping him awake. His mind moves at a hundred miles a minute and for the most part, he's awake because he's stressed, upset, or wrapped up in an idea he's gotten, itching to write it. But none of that applies right now - he isn't stressed, he has a steady job at the local newspaper and he just finished his week's assignment and turned it in yesterday, so he's got nothing to be stressed about. He's not upset as far as he can tell, and if he somehow was, he wouldn't know why. And his mind, while it's still reeling at a speedy pace, is just going over topics and things he's already written about and worked through, nothing new.

It doesn't really add up. He sighs, exasperated, and gazes out at the ocean. The water is relatively calm, as there isn't a lot of wind out, but there are still the small waves there are always are, crashing in against the sand quietly. There's still some time before sunrise, so the sky is settled into a dull, greyish blue, illuminated only by the bright moon. The water goes on as far as Alex can see, and the thought of it is rather comforting to him. He used to be afraid of the water, after the hurricane in St. Croix when he was a kid, but living here meant he was somewhat forced to overcome that fear.

The sky is starting to lighten by the time Alex gets any kind of a handle on what's going on in his own head. Something feels wrong, and out of place. He's not sure what it is, and it's driving him over the edge a little. He leans over to rest his head in his hand, leaning against the armrest. Wrong. _Wrong._ What's wrong?

If only he knew.

Alex gets out of his chair and carefully goes down the steps of the porch, his feet sinking into the sand and crunching against the malnourished, dried-up vegetation. He walks out to where the sea washes up onto the sand, and takes a few steps out, until the water levels comfortably at his ankles. It's early enough that the water is still chilly, but the air is cool enough that it's not abrupt, or even uncomfortable. Besides, it starts to warm up with his body heat radiating into the water.

He stands, pondering, far too intensely fixated on it, as the world around him starts to wake up. The birds are rousing and singing, morning calls that he's far too accustomed to. The horizon is starting to warm up, the sky transitioning from the dull blue to a jovial pink. It's almost too calm, and Alex is close to getting lost in the sound of the water crashing into the shore, when he hears footsteps crunching against the dead grass.

He whirls around and is met with the sight of Lafayette, a coffee mug in each of his hands. Lafayette sends him a small, lazy smile, still in his pajamas, a light purple robe tossed over his shoulder.

Alex takes the mug, graciously, and lets Lafayette wrap him in the robe.

"Figured you might want it, it's always cold out at this hour," he says, softly. Alex forgot that Lafayette always gets up to watch the sunrise - it's one of his favourite things about living here.

"I didn't see your robe in your room, so I just brought you mine," Lafayette explains, nodding towards the lilac terry cloth, "hope the colour doesn't, how you say, emasculate you." Alex's breath catches in his throat, and he almost feels like he's choking. That was it. It feels wrong, all wrong, like clothes that are two sizes too small.

Alex pauses for a second, frowning. Emasculate him. Why would the colour of the robe _emasculate_ him, and why did the word make him so uncomfortable? He glances over at Lafayette, who's contentedly absorbed in watching the warming sky, a soft smile painted over his face. Lafayette hasn't noticed, and probably won't notice, that Alex is caught up in his own head.

Emasculate. Why would it bother him to lose his masculinity? Would it bother him?

He looks down at his feet, his frown folding into a scowl. It wouldn't. It wouldn't bother him at all - maybe, maybe because he doesn't have it to begin with?

His breath catches again. That- that's it. He can't be emasculated if he's not masculine to begin with, it doesn't make sense that Lafayette thinks the robe would emasculate him because there's nothing about him to emasculate. He's not manly. Wait, fuck, he's not a man.

Alex startles, head shooting up and out towards the horizon, where the sun is starting to slip out from behind the water completely, settling in the bottom of the sky. Lafayette slowly turns his head towards Alex, concerned and startled, but knowing better than to ask when he notices the look of thought and realisation in Alex's eyes.

They. She? Alex thinks. _Their name is Alex, and they like to write_. Alex cringes - that feels worse than _he_ does. _Her name is Alex, and she likes to write._ That sounds... perfect. She nods, turning it over in her head. It feels like putting the last piece into a jigsaw puzzle, like she's finally found all her missing parts and built herself back into the person she's always known herself to be.

"I'm going back in," Lafayette starts, suddenly, "get some sleep, monsieur, alright? You need it." Alex nods, trying to keep her cringe to a minimum at the masculine title. She'll need to talk to them about that at some point, but not yet. She's not really ready for that conversation, at least not for a week or two.

Alex waits until she hears the sliding door click shut behind Lafayette, and she whispers to herself, gently: "she."

For once, her brain slows its reel to a stop. And it feels - perfect.


End file.
